All You Need is John
by ringos-girl
Summary: A Beatles McLennon fic I thought up in which Macca is frustrated, John takes someone home, and George eats a sammich (no surprise there). Rated T just to be safe, some mild language and some kissing. Not ATU. Focuses on John and Paul, though there will be some antics from George and Ringo as well. Starrison if you squint/use a microscope.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys, ringos-girl here! This is just some McLennon stuff I came up with a few days ago. Constructive criticism is welcomed! This is my first fic on this site, so please be kind. Thanks, and enjoy~!**

***note: I, of course, do not own the Beatles or any of its members. If I did, they'd all be alive and would live in my house.**

* * *

It was late autumn of 1965 – November, I believe – and the four of us, along with George Martin, were in the studio once again, the others watching and listening as I worked on vocals for one of the songs for the new album, the song being _Michelle_. It was late and we were all tired; we'd been recording all day. I was the only one with any energy left in me, so I'd decided to venture off and work at _Michelle_. The French bits were still giving me a bit of trouble.

This go-around, I was doing fine up until the final "_ma belle"_, where I hit a note so horribly wrong that I cringed a little. I tried to continue, but completely garbled the French lyrics and stopped abruptly, exasperated. I gritted my teeth in frustration and kicked half-heartedly at the music stand in front of me, causing it to wobble but remain upright. Muttering a few cross oaths under my breath, I dropped into a stiff, uncomfortable plastic chair and grabbed my Hofner, plucking irritably at the strings.

I looked up at the sound of the door opening to see John entering the room, being followed by George – Harrison, that is, George Martin had lingered behind the mixing desk – and Ringo. The two of them hung back in a corner, exchanging glances before starting up a murmured conversation, while John strode over to me. I braced myself for the onslaught of criticism and insults that was bound to come. Instead, however, John pulled up a chair in front of me and sat on it backwards so that he was facing towards me. He was close, close enough for me to see the faint bags under his eyes from the exhaustion of working all day.

John opened his mouth to speak, but closed it at the heated glare I gave him.

"I don't want to hear it, Lennon," I growled, keeping my attention on the bass in my hands. Without really thinking about it I began playing through the bass-line of _Help!_. My fingers moved quickly and angrily, mostly out of annoyance towards myself. John reached over and gently pried the instrument out of my grip, setting it down carefully on the ground behind him.

"Calm down, Macca," John said with an unusually straight face. "What's wrong, then?" I crossed my arms.

"I did horribly. The song is crap. I'm a crap singer."

"You're just tired, Paul. You're not a crap singer and yeh know it. You're just havin' a rough time with this'un, that's all. It's high time we all got home, anyways."

The soothing tone with which John spoke surprised me, but I refused to let it show. Why was he being so nice? John Lennon wasn't _nice_, he was a cocky, arrogant sod with a sharp wit and a sharper tongue. That was the image he liked to project, at least. I'd known the bloke for years. He'd always been that way. So why was he acting so comforting now?

Still, there was truth in his words.

"Maybe you're right," I muttered reluctantly. "It's been a bloody long day." One corner of John's mouth turned up.

"Give us a smile, then, McCartney!" he sang cheerfully. I looked at him dully. I wasn't going _that _far. I was still irritated. "No? Right, well, let's at least have one more go at the song and then we'll go home. You can crash at my place for the night."

"Fine. Let's go." Grudgingly I stood up, picking up my Hofner. John gestured to George and Rings to come over, each of them hefting their respective instrument or, in Richie's case, his drumsticks.

Ringo slid into place at his drum kit, John and George quickly tuned their guitars, and tiredly I counted us off.

_"Michelle, _ma belle_, these are words that go together well, my Michelle,_" I sang. Ringo picked up the beat, the other two starting in with their backing vocals. I glanced back at John, catching his encouraging nod and small smile.

_"Michelle, _ma belle. Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble, tres bien ensemble." My heart leaped as I finally got it right. Ringo let out a little cheer, prompting a little grin from the rest of us. _"I love you, I love you, I love you. That's all I want to say, until I find a way..."_

We went on successfully, finishing the song, and as soon as it was over I dropped my Hofner and made a beeline for the door, pleased but dead tired.

"Good show, Macca," John smirked, joining me. "See the effect I've got on you?"

"Sod off," I muttered, hiding a smile. "Just get me home before I pass out on yeh." We called a goodbye to Ringo and the Georges, and then I followed John out of the studio and to his car. Luckily, it was dark outside and nobody was on the street to recognize us and mob us. We slipped into the car and started off.

John flipped on the radio, keeping the volume low. An old Berry song was on, one we both knew; John began tapping the beat on the steering wheel with his fingers. Between the steady roar of the vehicle's motor and John's soft singing, his voice shot from a full day of singing, I dozed off not three minutes after sitting in the passenger seat.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up at the feeling of my shoulder being jostled, jumping a little as I opened my eyes to see John's face mere inches from my own.

"Wake up," he said bluntly, poking me in the chest. "I won't be carrying yeh into me house, if that's what yeh wanted."

"It's not, idiot," I muttered drowsily, swinging myself out of the car and following John up the front steps and into the house he and his wife Cynthia lived in with their 17-month-old son, Julian. Cynthia – I'd forgotten about her in my sleepiness. "Cyn won't mind my staying a night?"

"`Course not, she loves you. Yeah, yeah, yeah." John grinned cheekily at his corny reference to one of our earlier songs, then opened the front door and slipped into the house, with me following him closely.

I felt at home in John's house, mainly because of all the times I'd stayed here for hours, often until midnight or later, writing, scrapping and rewriting songs with him. John led the way to the guest bedroom, opening the door. My eyes gravitated instantly to the queen-sized bed in the corner of the room, and I walked toward it, trancelike, before collapsing onto the pillows.

John snorted in amusement.

"G'night, sleeping beauty." The door closed and his footsteps retreated.

Exhausted as I was, you'd think I'd pass out immediately, but for whatever reason, I didn't. I rolled onto my back and folded my hands on my chest, staring at the ceiling. Confusion was still keeping me awake. John's kind words and actions were so out of character for him. We were best mates, sure, but he'd never been like that with me. I'd only ever seen him be so nice to Cyn, and that was on a rare occasion.

After about a half hour, I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I confronted John about his behavior and got some answers. Sighing, I rolled out of the exceedingly comfortable bed, slipped my shoes off, and padded down the hallway in socks. On my way to John and Cyn's room I stopped, seeing a light on in the office, where we often wrote. I entered quietly to see John hunched over the desk with his glasses on, scribbling away furiously at a piece of paper in his haste. He looked up as I entered and quickly took off the glasses, stowing them in a drawer.

"Johnny, could I ask you somethin'?" I inquired, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Fire away," John grunted. His voice was hoarse from the day's work as well as his lack of sleep.

"Er - what are you workin' on?" I faltered, bending over his shoulder to read his writing.

_"You tell me that you've got everything you want_  
_And your bird can sing_  
_But you don't get me, you don't get me."_

There was more, but I was unable to read it due to John covering up the rest of the words with one hand.

"It's rubbish, don't bother with it. Havin' trouble sleeping, that's all. And you? Thought you'd be snorin' by now," he commented, quickly turning the conversation back onto me.

"Same as you, I s'pose," I replied, trying to pry his hand away from the paper. "C'mon, lemme see. Can't be that bad. You got any tune for it yet?" John grunted, which I took as a no. "Well, then, let me see the rest of it and mebbe I can help."

John grudgingly took his hand away from the sheet, allowing me to read the rest of what he'd written down.

_"You say you've seen Seven Wonders and your bird is green_  
_But you can't see me, you can't see me_.

_When your prized possessions start to wear you down_  
_Look in my direction, I'll be round, I'll be round."_

We sat in silence for a few moments, each trying to come up with something. However, having energy and being unable to sleep are two different things, and the latter applied to me far more accurately. My brain was still fried, and nothing came to mind. John still seemed intent, though, so I remained quiet to let him think. As I stood there, bent over, rather useless in my current state, my gaze traveled from the paper to my writing partner's focused face. John's dark brown eyes were fixated on the words; I could practically see the gears turning in his head. His auburn hair, messy and unkempt, fell in uneven strands over his forehead and hung in front of his eyes.

I'd never appreciated John's features from this close before, and it was only now that I began to recognize what all the birds must see in him. It was hardly a wonder they all threw themselves at him. He really was good-looking; his eyes full of mystique and wit, his thin lips pursed in concentration. Vaguely I wondered what it must feel like to kiss them. Cynthia was loathe to tell me. The only way I was likely to find out would be to kiss the boy myself, and - what the bloody _hell_ was I doing, thinking all these queer thoughts about me bandmate?

_It's late, Paul, that's all. Yer mind's distorted, it is. You'll be right in the morning. _I took a shaky breath, hoping John didn't hear, and clapped him a little too hard on the shoulder.

"Right, well, John, I'll be seein' you in the morning. Let me know if you work out any more of the song. G'night." John muttered something almost delirious in response, and I awkwardly ducked out of the room, leaving him alone with the pen, the paper, and his thoughts.

I half-walked, half-ran down the hallway back to my room and flopped onto the bed. Sleep was slow in coming, but eventually it did, and the strange thoughts I'd had about John were all but forgotten as I slid into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! Keep 'em coming! :) Also, if you have any ideas as to what you'd like to see from the boys, feel free to leave suggestions in a review - I love feedback =)**

* * *

"Paul! You up?"

A feminine voice broke into my consciousness, shattering the veil of sleep that still lingered around my drowsy head as I sat up in bed, slowly stretching.

"I'll be down in a minute," I called back, groaning and rubbing sleep out of my eyes. Light was streaming into the room through the thin blinds covering the window. This room was familiar to me, just like the rest of the house; I'd crashed here a few times before, after staying over until it was too late to drive safely home.

I slipped my feet into my shoes and headed downstairs, still wearing the previous day's t-shirt and jeans. The sight of a spatula-wielding Cynthia and the scent of bacon and eggs greeted me warmly. John was seated at the table with a cuppa, looking half-dead as he sipped at the hot drink.

Cynthia turned and smiled at me.

"Have a seat, Paul. Breakfast'll be up in just a moment."

"Thanks, Cyn," I said gratefully, sitting across the table from John as my stomach growled with hunger. I shifted my attention to my bandmate. "`Ey, make any progress on that bird song?"

"Not much," John grunted in response. "I went to bed pretty soon after yeh."

"Ah," I murmured in reply, resting my chin on my folded hands. I tilted my head slightly as I took in John's disheveled appearance, his thick-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his face, hair mussed and tangled, face beginning to show stubble as he hadn't shaved yet this morning. My mind drifted back to the strange thoughts I'd had the night before, and I began thinking them all over again. Even in such an unkempt state, John had a strange brand of careless elegance. There was just something to the way he spoke and moved that was just...just so unmistakably _John_. For a moment, I found myself envying Cyn that she'd landed the boy.

I remembered my previous musing, as well, and found that the question still troubled me - what _would _it feel like to kiss John Lennon?  
"Cynthia, might I ask you a question?" I blurted rather loudly, causing John to twitch and Cyn to turn around looking a little surprised.

"Er - sure, Paul, ask away," she replied, confusion laced faintly in her words.

"What does it feel like to...eh..." I trailed off. John leaned forward slightly in his chair, curious to hear what I had to say. "Um, what does...actually, never mind. Carry on." Chuckling sheepishly and blushing, I waved a dismissive hand.

"Well...alright, then," Cynthia said, turning back to the stove with a bemused expression. John lifted an eyebrow at me, then picked up a newspaper and began reading it.

For whatever reason, the way his glasses slipped down a little on his nose as he looked down at the paper was rather attractive-looking, at least in my eyes. I coughed and turned my face away to hide the growing blush creeping up my cheeks. What was wrong with me? Just then, Cynthia turned around and placed a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of each of us. Relieved to have something to do, I tucked into the food, trying to keep my eyes off John as he did the same. My traitorous gaze kept flicking in his direction.

Once we'd finished the breakfast, John stood up and pushed in his chair, kissing Cynthia on the cheek briefly and thanking her for the meal. I thanked her as well, then followed John upstairs, where he wordlessly handed me a comb and a spare toothbrush, a knowing smirk quirking his features. Trying to ignore the odd fluttering in my chest brought on by the ador - by the smirk, I nodded in thanks and slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair, which was almost as rumpled as John's.

When I was presentable, I found my way downstairs and nearly ran into John as he turned a corner coming the opposite way. The breath caught in my throat as I looked him over. He was wearing tight-fitting dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket, and his hair was fixed just so. As usual, he'd chosen to discard his glasses. In a word, he looked..._gorgeous_? Why was that the adjective popping to mind?

"`Bout time, Macca," John said, a smirk still in place on his smooth features. "You take as long to get ready as a ruddy teenage girl, I swear. C'mon, let's get to the studio. The lads are waitin' on us, probably."

"Yeah," was all I could muster in response. Then: "Uh - d'you think maybe I could drive?"

John stopped and gave me a funny look as he opened the front door, stopping with the key still turned in the lock.

"Why?"

"Well, it's just, y'know, your eyesight isn't the best, and I'd rather not end up as a smear on the pavement or somethin'."

"Bloody hell, Paul," John muttered, shaking his head, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, then, you drive. If you crash me car, though... I'm warnin' you right now, McCartney, I'll skin yeh alive."

"I won't crash the car, Johnny," I said with a crooked grin, sliding into the driver's seat and turning the key in the ignition. "C'mon, then."

* * *

We arrived at the studio about ten minutes later and walked over to find Ringo standing out front, holding his drumsticks and looking lost.

"What's wrong, Richie?" John called to the shorter Beatle, approaching him. I followed.

"Forgot me damned key," Ringo muttered, crossing his arms. "I've been standin' out here for twenty minutes, y'know."

"Well, then, you can come in with us," I told him with a grin. "Just because we're feelin' generous. Where's Georgie?" Ringo shrugged, tailing us as we entered through the front door and down a hallway to our recording room.

"What're we workin' on today?" I asked John as he picked up a guitar and hooked it up to an amplifier. He was about to answer, but stopped when George walked in, munching on a sandwich.

"Hey, Geo," we called. He responded with a muffled hello, swallowing the last of his sandwich, then glanced at John and quickly set up his own guitar.

"So? What're we doin'?" Ringo inquired, quietly tapping his sticks together.

"I thought we'd have a day off to mess around with whatever we liked," John suggested with a shrug, looking around at us for approval. In response, George shredded the air with the opening riffs of _Roll Over Beethoven, _and Ringo instantly caught on, jumping in with the cymbals right on time.

I felt a grin on my face as I started in on the bass part. A quick glance in John's direction told me he was similarly enjoying the song. The serene smile on his face melted my heart as his fingers danced over the guitar's strings with ease. I wasn't really thinking about what I was playing at this point; my hands knew what to do, and they were doing it without much thought on my part. I was gazing at John's face the entire time, basking in the glow of his happiness. His contentment was all I needed to be happy myself. If he was smiling, I was too, just for the sheer beauty of John's joy.

It hit me then, and my fingers trembled slightly on the fret and strings of my Hofner as the realization dawned on me. I was in love with John Winston Lennon. I was in love with my best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: sorry for the wait, I've been a little busy. So - Paul's realized his feelings for John, but what will he do with this new knowledge?**

* * *

I felt the blood drain away from my face, and I abruptly had to sit down. John glanced over at me, quizzical, and I did my best to avoid his gaze so that he wouldn't see the tumult and adoration in my eyes.

"Yeh alright there, Paul?" George asked with a slight frown, lowering his guitar and giving me a concerned look. John took an uncertain step towards me. I waved them off with a weak attempt at a smile.

"I'm fine, just a bit of vertigo or summot," I murmured, taking a deep breath to soothe the panicked beating of my panicked heart. "Er - I'm gonna run to the loo. Back in a moment." I got up and hurriedly stumbled out of the studio and down the hallway, skidding into the restroom just in time to drop onto my hands and knees, and empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I coughed and forced down the humiliating tears of confusion that pricked at my eyes.

Footsteps came tapping briskly after me and I turned my head to see John standing in the doorway, looking a bit pale himself.

"Good lord, McCartney!" he exclaimed, hurrying over and crouching next to me (though not before tactfully closing the toilet lid). "What's gotten into you?"

"`Ell if I know," I muttered wretchedly, sitting back on my knees and taking a deep breath. My head was spinning; I couldn't tell if it was still shock, or if it was more due to my close proximity to John. "Probably just from the bad sleep or somethin'." I stood up shakily, trying not to flinch away as John grabbed my arm to steady me, and rinsed my mouth at the sink.

"Ta, Johnny," I said a bit breathlessly as he helped me out of the bathroom and back to the recording room. We both stopped dead in our tracks at the sight of George and Ringo sharing a seemingly tentative kiss behind Ringo's drum kit. Their eyes were closed, preventing them from noticing our presence until I fake-coughed into my arm. They jolted apart, wide-eyed with a distinct deer-in-the-headlights look. (**A/N: Alright, maybe you ****_don't _****need a microscope to see the Starrison here. xD**)

"What the bloody hell?" John snapped, staring at the two in a mixture of shock and anger.

"John, I can - " Ringo began, standing up and approaching us.

"No, you bloody well can't explain!" John growled, cutting him off. "There's nothin' to explain except that me bandmates are bloody queers and didn't bother t' tell me!"

"We were going to tell you," George piped up a bit sheepishly, glancing furtively in Ringo's direction. "We just thought you'd take it badly. We didn't want to split up the band, y'know."

"If yeh'd just told me, maybe I wouldn't take it so badly," John snarled in response, his voice cold. Even as he spoke, however, he cast a strange, unreadable look in my direction that caused me to drop my eyes to the ground. There was something off about how he was looking at me.

"Johnny," I said quietly, touching his arm to try and calm me down. He jerked his arm away and whirled around, storming out of the studio.

"I'm goin' home. Have fun with the queers, Macca." I moved to follow him, but stopped as Ringo caught me by the wrist.

"Let `im go," he said, his voice sullen. "He'll calm down eventually. I hope."  
"What were you two thinking?" I hissed, causing Ringo to release me and shrink away. Even George looked uncomfortable. "How long 'as this been goin' on?"

"Eh...some time, I s'pose," George said with a shrug.

"And you didn't think to inform us? D'you really think we would've cared that much?" I said, my voice a bit strained.

"Well..." Ringo trailed off.

"I'm going to talk to John," I said with a sigh, frustrated. "I'll see you two later." With that I turned and walked out, leaving them alone.

It wasn't the fact that they were gay for each other that bothered me, or the fact that I'd seen them snogging, or even the fact that they hadn't told me. It was the fact that it hit way too close to home, it was way too close to my own current situation. John's reaction had further terrified me. I definitely couldn't tell him how I felt now. He'd hate me. What was I supposed to do?

Conflicted, I got in my car, which I'd left there the night before, and slowly drove to John and Cyn's place. Cynthia greeted me at the door. Before I had a chance to say anything, she gave me a half-pleading look and pointed upstairs. I nodded to her and went up the stairs two at a time to find John sitting on his and Cyn's bed, guitar in hand, staring blankly at the wall. He looked at me as I entered, but said nothing.

I went over and sat next to him, trying not to stare too intently at his face, which was completely blank in thought and looked utterly peaceful, and just _so beautiful_, and - _stop it, Paulie, you're trying to make him feel better, not make a move on the boy._

"They're sorry they didn't tell yeh, y'know," I said bluntly after a moment.

"They bloody well should be," John muttered, but there wasn't much conviction behind his words. I nodded silently and said nothing more.

We sat in silence for a few minutes before I took a deep breath and turned to face John. My heart was pounding a mile a minute in my chest, the blood roaring so loudly in my ears that I wasn't sure I'd be able to hear myself speak.

"To avoid you getting angry again, I guess I've got something I should tell you," I said slowly, dragging out the moment. John looked at me, stone-faced, expectant.

"And that is?"

"Well...there's this bloke, see, and I...well, he's..." I trailed off, biting my lip for a second and looking down at my hands, which were folded in my lap. "What I'm trying to say is...er..."

"Out with it, Paul," John said, a bit impatient.

"I'm in love with you!" I blurted, mortified the instant the words left my mouth. "Oh, God, what've I done, the band'll be destroyed, oh, God, I - "

"Paul."

"Y-yeah."

"Shut up."

"But I - "

A warm pair of lips covered my own.


	5. Chapter 5

The kiss was short and chaste. John pulled back with a little smirk.

"You have a tendency to blither on, Macca."

I stared at him, touching my lips subconsciously and gaping like a fish.

"You – what just…?" John's facial features softened a bit.

"Crap. Sorry for that. I wasn't meaning to make it weird. I just wanted to know…what it would feel like, kissing a guy. Seein' George and Rings made me curious, y'know?" he said, looking a little sheepish.

"O-oh. That's all?" I asked, trying not to sound let down. My hopes had soared that perhaps he actually returned my feelings, but it seemed I was just an experiment.

John seemed to sense my disappointment, reaching over and clapping me lightly on the shoulder.

"What's wrong now? I swear, McCartney, you're worse than a menopausal hag."

"I…well, did you hear what I said…?" I inquired tentatively, not meeting John's warm brown gaze.

"`Course I did, Paulie. I'm not surprised, of course. Everyone loves me," he said with a cheeky grin. I gave him a light shove and a nervous laugh, then stood up, hands shaking.

"Yeah. Right, well, I'm just gonna be going…" I started for the door. I was halfway through the doorway when fingers locked around my wrist and turned me around.

John's lips crashed onto my mouth with far more force than before, his fingers twining with mine as we stood in the doorway. I stood paralyzed for a moment, shocked and elated. Did this mean-? I gradually began to kiss back, our lips moving in perfect rhythm with one another. They fit together perfectly, as if they were made for each other. As if _we _were made for each other.

Shyly I ran my tongue along John's lower lip, hoping he wouldn't reject me. Quite the opposite, he happily complied, opening his mouth and allowing our tongues to dance around one another for a moment before we pulled apart. I inhaled deeply, breathless. Our fingers were still firmly interlocked; I freed one hand and cautiously reached up to brush a strand of hair away from John's eyes. His cocky grin slipping back into place, John lifted my other hand and kissed it like that of a princess, then released me.

"Until tomorrow, fair Macca," he said with a mocking curtsey.

Unable to keep the stupid ear-to-ear grin off my face, I nodded wordlessly and hurried away. I practically ran past a curious Cynthia and sped home in my car, rushing to the phone as soon as the front door closed behind me. I quickly rung George's number and waited for him to pick up.

"`Ello?" answered a slightly winded voice.

"George?"

"Oh, hey, Paul. Um, did you need something?"

I felt rather like a teenage girl, giddy and lightheaded but terrified.

"_IwenttoJohn'shouseandwekissedandnowIdon'tknowwhatt o –"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow the hell down!" George sounded amused, but slightly annoyed.

"John kissed me," I said breathlessly.

"He – _what_?"

In the background I heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ringo. "Georgieeeeee!"

"Hold _on, _Rings. Ah – sorry, what did you say, Paul? John _kissed _you?"

"Yes, he bloody kissed me!"

"Uh – so did you…like it?"

I stopped, hesitant.

"Um…well…it wasn't bad, I s'pose.."

"You liar!" I could hear the grin in George's voice. "You liked it. You two are going to..?"

"I dunno. We'll find out, I guess." Again I heard Ringo whining. He sounded strangely needy. I lifted an eyebrow. "You'd better go take care of your boy, Harrison."

"Shut it," George growled, but he muttered something with a little chuckle and the line went dead.

I sat on the couch and replayed the kiss in my head until I fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

JOHN'S POV.

My hands trembled on the steering wheel as I drove slowly towards the studio. After the scene with Paul yesterday, I wasn't sure how he was going to act around me. He'd seemed happy after we'd...kissed...but I was still concerned. What a git I must seem, shouting at George and Rings and then turning right around and snogging Macca. _Hypocrite. No wonder everyone despises me._

As I entered our recording room, I grumbled a curse under my breath, seeing that only Paul was present in the room. He was strumming absentmindedly on one of his leftie guitars, quietly singing _Michelle _to himself and doing a much better job of it than last time. I stood quietly, leaning against the door frame, so that he wouldn't notice me and stop playing. The zen-like look on his face and the huskiness of his voice as the French lyrics effortlessly slipped from his lips sent a chill down my spine. I glanced down quickly to make sure nothing was noticeable. That was the last thing I needed Paul seeing. _You bloody queer._

I silently tiptoed up behind him and poked him in the side, causing him to jump and whirl around with a small yelp. Red in the face, he punched me in the arm as he recognized me and muttered several cross words.

"Bloody hell, Lennon! You scared me half to death!" Paul scolded, clutching at his guitar like a lifeline. I grinned, pinching his cheek.

"But Paulie, you look so adorable when you're pissed off!" I sang, allowing him to bat my hand away.

"Sod off," he muttered, averting his eyes.

"It's alright. I know you love me," I said with a cocky smile. Paul blanched.

I tilted my head slightly.

"What now? Yeh aren't gonna vomit on me again, are yeh?" I took a cautious step backwards.

"No." His voice was tight as he turned away and set down his guitar, moving mechanically. I narrowed my eyes.

"What's wrong, Paul?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" His volume of speaking dropped considerably, and I had to strain somewhat to hear him. "I...what did you mean by that yesterday?"

"By what?"

"By what you did."

"Which would be..?"

He wheeled around, teeth clenched, glaring at me.

"Kissing me, you idiot! Did you think that wouldn't make me wonder at all? You told me I was just an experiment, and then you kissed me again! How am I supposed to feel about that?" Paul said accusingly, crossing his arms. I gently took his hands and held them at chest level. He continued to look at me with anger, but his lovely brown eyes softened ever so slightly at the gesture.

"You're not an experiment, Macca. I was trying to make it less uncomfortable for both of us. I didn't want you to hate me for it."

"I can't hate you, John. Trust me, I've tried."

"Then how do you feel about me? I'm scared. Okay? I'm scared. I've been scared ever since you left. I know you hate me for what I did. Don't lie to me."

Without noticing, I tightened my grip on Paul's hands as I spoke. I needed something to tether myself or else I thought I might turn and run.

"Dammit, John Lennon. I do not hate you. Get that through your thick head. I...oh, bloody hell." Paul rolled his eyes in frustration and then leaned forward, pressing his lips to mine. I made a little noise of surprise and tried to pull away, confused, but he held fast to one of my hands and wrapped one arm around my neck, cementing me in place.

This was apparently Paul's way of telling me he didn't hate me, then? I was still a little bemused, but the nagging fear that I might not get to kiss him again motivated me, and I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. Gradually Paul's hands drifted to a more natural stance, one on each shoulder, holding me lightly, and I wrapped my arms around his surprisingly slim waist. The kiss had started off frustrated and hungry, but now had slowed down to something sweeter and more genuine.

"Oh." At the sound of a voice, we broke the kiss and turned our heads towards the source of the voice, though we remained in one another's embrace. Ringo stood in the doorway, looking awkward. George was beside him, one hand resting almost unnoticeably on Ringo's waist.

Paul was the first of us to speak up.

"`Ello George. Rings." Their eyes didn't move from our interlocked figures, but each nodded quietly in greeting. I lifted Paul's hands away from my neck and held on to one, releasing the other to his side. I twined my fingers with his, almost - but not quite - discreet, and flashed a signature Lennon smile to our two bandmates.

"Don't stare, it's impolite," I said in a mockingly scolding tone, dragging Paul with me as I walked over to the two of them. My voice returned to normal as I went on. "Er - look, 'm sorry I yelled at yeh the other day. I was jus' shocked. I'm alright with you two being...whatever it is you want to call it - " I waved a dismissive hand " - as long as you're alright with Paul and I."

Paul's grip tightened on my hand as I spoke that last little bit. He turned his head towards me, looking up with a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. I pecked him lightly on the lips and looked back at George and Ringo, who nodded.

"Right, then." I slipped my hand out of Paul's death-grip and shook it to get the blood circulating again. "Shall we do a little recording, then? Album's due in a month."

"Let's," George agreed, removing his hand from Ringo's waist to heft his guitar case.

We played better than we had in months.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I was listening to the song _Rain _and thought this would be a cute fluffy way to segue into the less-cheerful stuff coming up. Hope you like it~**

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_PAUL'S POV_

As the last chords of _Norwegian Wood _faded from the air, a familiar sound made itself known at the very edges of my hearing; the light pitter-patter of water drops hitting the roof of the studio.

"Y'hear that?" I said, putting down my bass and glancing at the others. "It's rainin'."

"Does tend to do that sometimes," John replied, not looking up from the strings of his guitar at which he was silently plucking.

"It's been a few weeks since we had a good rain," I went on, ignoring his disinterested tone.

"And?" George, too, seemed unaffected by my announcement.

Instead of answering verbally, I grabbed John's hand and dragged him outside. His cursing gave way to laughter as I yanked him into the rain and took his other hand, pulling him into a fast-paced waltz around the deserted street. The other two were quick to join us, Ringo towing George without much difficulty into the downpour. Richie wasn't much of a trained dancer, to say the least, but his fun was in his erratic, energetic movements that were unique to him. I grinned at the sight of lanky George trying to mimic Ringo's spontaneous motions as they careened to and fro.

John pulled me closer, slowing down our own dance and touching his forehead to mine.

"_If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true, and help me understand?"_ he sang softly, a little smile gracing his lips.

_"Cause I've been in love before, and I've found that love was more than just holding hands_," I responded, squeezing his hand.

_"If I give my heart to you, I must be sure from the very start that you, would love me more than her. If I trust in you, oh, please, don't run and hide. If I love you too, oh, please, don't hurt my pride like her, cause I couldn't stand the pain. And I would be sad if our new love, was in vain." _We sang at equally low volumes, harmonizing perfectly as water cascaded down our faces from above.

We were thoroughly soaked by now, our hair slicked against our faces, but neither of us cared. I had eyes only for John, the rich color of his sopping wet mop-top, the soft curve of his long nose, the shy smile on his thin lips and in his chocolate eyes.

_"So I hope you see that I, would love to love you, and that she will cry when she learns we are two; 'cause I couldn't stand the pain."_ I glanced over at the other two again, still singing with John. They had settled into a more regular rhythm, rocking side-to-side and gently holding one another. They appeared to be speaking, but judging by the inaudible nature of their voices, I ascertained that their words were intended only for each other, and made no effort to hear what they were saying.

I spotted something out of the corner of my eye; the shape of something looming in the distance. Around the gray mist created by the rain, however, I couldn't tell quite what it was. George noticed it at about the same time I did and pointed it out to Rings, cutting short their murmured conversation. The pair of them made their way back to the sidewalk just outside the doors of the studio and stood there, peering at the object with interlocked fingers and slightly concerned expressions.

I shifted my gaze back to John, who had his eyes closed and was crooning the final few lyrics of _If I Fell_.

"John," I said quietly, nudging his foot with mine.

"Hmm?" He didn't open his eyes.

"I think there's somethin' in the road, Johnny."

"What is it?"

"Dunno, can't tell."

"Well, then, it can't be important, can it?" He smiled and lightly kissed me, then went back to singing; this time it was a far earlier song, one George had sung on the album recording; _Do You Want to Know a Secret_.

Hesitant, I rested my chin on his shoulder and kept my eyes open. Over the sound of the falling rain and John's sweet voice, a different, less melodious noise grated on my ears. It was the harsh roar of the engine of a large truck – the semis they use for transporting copious quantities of a product. Understanding dawned on me.

"John, I think we'd better get out of the road." He ignored my words, continuing to serenade me. Only when my voice grew frantic did he cut off his singing and open his eyes. "John, I'm serious!"

"What _is _it, Macca?"

The truck was almost upon us, but, as I realized with a sick feeling in my stomach, John wasn't wearing his glasses and could hardly see anything. I had two options, one of which was to run and try to drag John with me, most likely having to deal with resistance on his part, which could lead to him being hurt or even killed. The other was to prioritize his safety and hope that I turned out alright, too.

I took a deep breath and gave John a shaky smile and a fierce, impassioned kiss. He barely had time to respond, his lips parting in surprise as I fairly attacked them.

"Love yeh, Johhny." I grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him towards the sidewalk with as much force as I could muster, sending him just out of harm's way. George and Ringo's frantic yells filled my ears. I turned my head and shouted, beginning to run, but at that point I was too slow. A crushing weight slammed into my side, sending me flying to the side in a crumpled heap. Pain exploded into my body, overwhelming my senses.

I was vaguely aware of a pair of strong arms wrapping around me, the sound of sobbing – mine or someone else's, I couldn't tell - deafening me in my fragile mental state. I heard John hysterically wailing my name. My only thought was that he was safe, oh, thank God, my Johnny was safe. I tried to reach for him, but my arm wouldn't follow my instructions, and the fresh wave of pain that invaded my body sent me spiraling into blackness. John's cries were the last thing I heard as all else disappeared.


End file.
